


The Desperate Uncertainty of Love

by sareliz



Series: The Chronicles of Avalon [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:47:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24249802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sareliz/pseuds/sareliz
Summary: Viktor had always known was love was. One couldn't raise the roses his family did without knowing it. Somehow he had imagined love being beautiful and kind to him. And then he went and fell in love and discovered the desperate uncertainty of it.***This work is the prequel to Debts of Honor, it is entirely Viktor POV, it takes place from August to June of his year studying abroad, and this means it is unresolved angst. (Resolution takes place in Debts of Honor.) It is slightly, but not entirely, canonical.Be ye forewarned.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Viktor Krum
Series: The Chronicles of Avalon [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1723333
Comments: 36
Kudos: 144





	1. Love at first sight isn't always ideal.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [linusmir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/linusmir/gifts).



> After first reading this, my husband pointed out that canon doesn't at all honor any emotional trauma that the characters experience (aside from Harry's), and that canon doesn't treat Viktor very well at all. And I think that's true.
> 
> And he also said that if the fic didn't have such funny moments it would be hella dark.
> 
> Also, parts of this story are bits I've rewritten from former H/V drabbles I wrote long ago, including the opening conversation.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He fell in love. And then there was a terrorist attack.

“Chocolate or Cherry?”

Viktor snapped out of his trance and glanced over at Vlad who sat next to him, a small oasis at what was going to prove to be a very trying table to sit at for meals. But at least the table was  _ right next to hers.  _

Oh, why oh why couldn’t Durmstrang have sat with the Gryffindors?

“Chocolate or Cherry, Vitya?” Vlad asked again, noticing the general trend of his staring. Not that she had. Which might have been bad, or depending on other factors, very, very good.

He never thought he’d see her again. He’d tried to find out who she was, but the closest he’d come was the guest or family member of an unknown Ministry staffer and beyond that there simply wasn’t information to be had.

The woman who fixed his nose at the World Cup.

In one single moment, one startled glance, she’d redefined all sense of attraction Viktor had ever known, and after he’d escaped the insanity of that particular World Cup he’d come home to his parents and announced it.

_ “I’ve fallen in love. And I’ll never see her again. And she may be dead.” _

That had certainly gotten mixed reactions from his parents.

Before his mother had a chance to ask questions, his father took him out to stand between the fields of roses and Viktor fell to his knees when it hit him. No longer the illuminating realizations of what love was, but the crushing, unquenched passionate and full-bodied desire that his parents had warned him would happen one day when he mixed the roses, while in love.

Once that was finished, the questions began and as he prepared for his final year of school he did all he could to discover her identity, all to no avail.

“Look on the bright side, Viktor. If she is your age, which is possible, then you may very well find her when you arrive in Scotland.”

“I tell you, Mama, she was a woman grown. She was no school girl.”

“A woman grown will be much harder to find. For your sake, I will pray that she is still attending Hogwarts. Keep praying, and keep your eyes open, my dearest one. If it turns out you cannot find her there, we will take an ad out in the British Wizarding newspapers once you graduate and have a bit more freedom of time. Do not lose hope, Vitya. This was but your first meeting. There will be others,” his mother had assured him. 

And his mother had been right, thank God. (She usually was, of course, and Viktor didn’t always find himself thanking God for it.)

When he walked in last night (totally embarrassed to have no part to play in the formal entrance, but alas, he had been excused for quidditch practice) at least he had the opportunity to scan the crowds and he had  _ not  _ tripped over his own feet  _ when he did in fact spot her. _

He hadn’t starred. Much. The erection was startling, much as it was the first time. The orgasm even more so. The relief and sense of safety at being able to do a wordless, wandless cleaning charm had been profound no moreso the first than the second time.

And now the third.

_ Dammit. _

“Vitya,” Vlad sing-songed, “You’re starring at pretty British girls and snakes we sit with will use to hurt,” he said in his fairly decent Bulgarian. German was the common language of the school, but Vlad often spoke with Viktor in Bulgarian, and it was nice. “But which pretty British girl? Cherry or chocolate? Answer, answer, answer!”

Viktor was pulled out of his thoughts yet again. He sighed. “They’re girls, not ice creams.”

“Yes,” Vlad replied. “But I never remember colors. Food is easy. So which girl?”

“Chocolate. You have to help me find out her name. I met her at the World Cup. God willing, that is the woman I am going to marry, Vlad.”

Vlad blinked at him. “What is this? What? And you don’t know her name?”

“She fixed my nose. I want to thank her by laying my heart at her feet and giving her several children.”

Vlad smirked. “Is not the only thing you want to give her.”

“This is hardly the place to discuss such things, even if no one can understand us. Help me find out her name.”

“Ask the idiot next to you. He seems to know everything else.”

Viktor did so, cringing at his own terrible English. It was his fifth language, and his worst. Honestly, he never thought he’d really need it. Which he also didn’t want to think much about right now.

The brat next to him did in fact share her name, though he also shared his low opinion of her and various insults that assured Viktor of the brat’s total lack of good breeding, as nothing,  _ nothing  _ could explain away such rudeness displayed with a new acquaintance.

Then again, he said her name quite quickly and it was not… a common name. No simple Irina or Natasha, here. Then again, she was not a common woman. Girl. Woman. Definitely a woman. She was probably in her final year. But he definitely caught her last name. Granger. Miss Granger. That would be an entirely appropriate way to address her, when he made her acquaintance.

And if he was so fortunate as to be invited to use her first name, well, then he would jump that hurdle when he came to it.

“You. Eat your breakfast and not just stare at the future Madam Krum,” Vlad pointed out gamely. “Ooh, she’s looking at you. She  _ is _ pretty. Much hair. But still pretty.”

“I like her hair,” he murmured, caught in her gaze and wanting to stay there for as long as possible.

Then Vlad was laughing. “She scowls as good as you! I don’t think Mistress Chocolate likes you much.” Vlad clapped Viktor strongly on the shoulder and he glanced over to glare briefly in frustration and then back to Miss Granger only to discover he had lost her interest.

Dammit. 

Still. He had fodder for his dreams tonight.

* * *

“Is okay to sit?” he asked quietly.

She didn’t move.

Or speak.

Admittedly he had come up quietly behind her in the library.

Viktor tried again, clearing his throat behind her and off to the right, and he put his hand on the chair and pulled it out, slightly. When she startled, he spoke. “Is okay to sit?”

“Yes, of course,” she spoke quickly and quietly and did not turn to address him. She only moved a book out of his way and put it on top of another, one of many in front of her.

He sat down, swallowing down his own nervousness and slowly pulled out his textbook and notebook in which he was compiling questions from the Charms lessons to discuss with his mother in the next letter, as he always did. Viktor had hoped… well, he had hoped to perhaps have a brief conversation with her before he started studying, but admittedly she was in the middle of her own work, and he hated to bother her. But he only had an hour.

And she didn’t look up, the entire hour.

Ten minutes before he needed to leave, he gave up the attempts to focus on Charms. Should he interrupt her? Should he write a note? 

No, probably he shouldn’t interrupt her. He wanted to make a good impression, and whatever she was focusing on was important. A note. Definitely a note.

_ Oh God, what to say? _

_ I love you. _

_ Will you allow me to court you? _

_ Hello, my name is Viktor. May I kiss you? _

Foolish, ridiculous notions.

He took out a single sheet of paper and wrote an extremely small and extremely grammatically correct note in the exact center of it, and then folded it twice, like a letter. His Latin cursive hand was, he thought, quite good (extensive essays in German will do that for a fellow), though this was no time for an attempt at poetry in his worst language. When he got up, he casually put it down right next to the nearest of her books.

> _ I do not wish to disturb you. I would like to make your acquaintance, and to thank you for fixing my nose. Would you meet me here after dinner?  _

Now, if he could just court her via letters, everything would be fine. He would have time to think about grammar and double check vocabulary and idiom. With enough practice, he might feel confident enough to attempt poetry, even. The spoken word  _ flowed far too fast  _ for Viktor to translate in a nervous and besotted brain and have anything beyond idiocy come out.

Well, his English clearly needed to improve. And if he wasn’t named Champion of Durmstrang, he would certainly have time in his schedule for some extracurricular learning.

* * *

She never came.

Viktor stayed for two hours until the library nearly closed for the night, and certainly right up until the edge of his curfew, but she never came. He had gotten up several times ostensibly to stretch, but also to walk casually through the library and glance at the people who were studying, or finding books, but he never saw her.

Maybe… maybe she didn’t get the note. Perhaps she thought he had left the paper there accidentally and was respecting his privacy. And if that were the case, it would show a great decency on her part to  _ not  _ read the note. But maybe she had taken it up in order to return it to him later? And maybe curiosity would get to her and she would read it eventually? That might be the best of both worlds, really. Assuming that it didn’t embarrass her to read it too late to meet. She seemed like a nice person and she would probably have met him if she’d read the note, even just to tell him very politely that she already had a boyfriend, or a fiance, and then his heart could just dry up on it’s own and die, and his soul could dissolve into nothingness and he could return to Bulgaria a broken man, but perhaps for his brokenness, a more dedicated seeker.

But maybe she wasn’t already engaged. And maybe she was in between boyfriends.  _ Maybe  _ she would be chosen as the champion of the school, and so he would be able to see her often.

And maybe she’d just taken up the note without reading it.

That’s probably what it was, Viktor counselled his bruised heart and battered ego.

_ This is going to be one hell of an uphill battle,  _ his heart responded.

* * *

“Madam Krum is in her fourth year only, you  _ corrupter of the innocent _ ,” Vlad greeted him, mostly in Bulgarian, but with a bit of his own native Russian at the end when he was clearly at a loss for specific words.

Viktor’s mouth gaped. It couldn’t be true. He blinked, but reality did not change in the interim and Vlad was still smirking at him, the ass.

“I am no such thing,” Viktor denied, still shocked. “My intentions are honorable, and besides...” he trailed off, wanting to say that in Bulgaria the age of consent was 14, but what was it in Britain?  _ Viktor had no idea.  _ For all he knew, it was a country that embraced 18 as a hard line, even if they were…  _ oh God…  _ three years apart. And if it was a hard line, once Viktor crossed that line he’d have to wait another three or four years for  _ her  _ to do so.

_ Oh, God.  _ Something inside of him shriveled up and died, thinking that he would have to wait four years to have her… if she would have him at all.

And of course he was blushing hard all the while because while his intentions were honorable he’d still had weeks of fantasy backed by a  _ lot  _ of orgasms both spontaneous and planned, and for her to be anything under seventeen - his own age - was simply not part of his plan and he couldn’t quite get his brain around it.

But then he had nothing to say, and Vlad was laughing at him again.

His mother would know what to do. He would write to his parents this evening.

The love of his life was fourteen. 

Fuck. 

_ Fuck.  _

* * *

She was always with her friends in the past few days when she was in the library, and why were all her friends boys? Was she dating one of them? Both of them?  _ All of them? _

His mother had assured him that her age wasn’t an issue and it would provide them more time to become better acquainted without feeling as if they were rushing into courting. He would have an opportunity to become her friend, and also to vastly improve his English, and if things went well this year, he was to invite her and her family to visit over the summer, and his parents would play host. And if things worked out very, very well, he could consider transferring to a British team around the time of her graduation, and so be on hand to court or finish courting her affections.

And his father had pointed out that love and lust went hand in hand and he shouldn’t be ashamed to masturbate when he had the privacy to do so, but neither should he importune the girl in any way, and that he should be a perfect gentleman until he was given permission to court her, at which point a small amount of greater intimacy would be acceptable and likely welcome.

Much to his relief, his father had pointed out that in Britain the age of consent was 16. Another two years. Maybe. If.

Every time he thought about the fact that actually,  _ she might never have sex with him anyway,  _ he just wanted to die inside. The first step, of course, was to make her acquaintance. Then build a friendship, if she was amenable. Then to see how compatible they could be in their interests, and if a deeper, more long lasting and more intimate relationship could be feasible… or really, to see if she was at all attracted to him. And if so, he would much rather skip casual dating and go straight to a courtship, if she was amenable. 

It was a clearly defined path in his mind and he had his feet on the first steps, but she didn’t. Not yet.

And of course nothing was going anywhere and Viktor couldn’t even really get near her. It was like she had guard dogs.

He had chosen his study table well. It had a good view of hers, and was also close to the door so he could make his escape as necessary. As she and her friends were packing up he gave up for the afternoon and redoubled his focus on the Ancient Runes as used in strengthening Charms. It was his mother’s bread and butter, and it had always fascinated him as well, and it was just as well--

A letter dropped in his lap.

Viktor twisted in his chair, but she was just leaving, catching up to the guard dogs she’d sent on before. She’d had to detour to his table and she’d done so and  _ he hadn’t even noticed.  _

_ Oh God. _

His heart skipped a beat as he opened the paper.

> _ I’m sorry I missed this. I hadn’t realized it was for me, and thought it just got mixed in with my papers. But who else goes around fixing people’s noses? If you can meet me for a walk around the lake tonight, I’ll be at the front entrance at eight. _

She had beautiful handwriting.

* * *

Viktor had been practicing several phrases. Greetings. Pleasantries. Queries. Nothing too complicated. Now, if only he could  _ remember them.  _

And this time, planning to meet with her, he’d finally used the Gentleman’s Courting Charm his father had taught him when he was fifteen. He’d practiced now and then since, but it had never made much of a difference, so he had noticed. It would make a significant one, tonight. Tonight it might mean he would have enough blood in his brain to speak English.

He had watched her on and off through dinner, as often as he could get away with it. Vlad teased him mercilessly, particularly once his Russian friend discovered that he had a date with her only later. She’d breezed off and left alone at a quarter to eight, but she wore no coat, and so, Viktor reasoned, she was probably returning to her dorm to put her books down and get a jacket, though the weather was generally mild here, and today was no exception.

Viktor could barely eat. What food he did take just turned to lead in his stomach and after a while he stopped eating and opted for hot tea instead. It wasn’t ginger tea, but it was soothing in its own right.

He waited ten minutes before leaving the table with Vlad who would come with him to keep him from panicking and then promptly disappear when she arrived.

Vlad kept up a constant stream of encouraging talk in a mixture of Bulgarian and Russian as they walked together.

“Vitya, you have nothing to worry about. You are older, and that is fascinating to young girls, yes? You are, mmm, well, perhaps not classically handsome as I am, but you are intelligent, talented, and very strong both physically and magically. This too is very alluring to a witch. Also, you are a kind boy. You are not mean spirited, and your competitive streak makes you stronger. And this year you are named Rookie of the Year, and Most Important Player in international quidditch. This impresses most witches, too. Most wizards, come to think of it. You are a catch. She will be flattered to have your attention, your pretty Mistress Chocolate.”

So it went. Vlad continued to extol his virtues, Viktor continued to become ever more nervous.

Whether she arrived early or late or perfectly on time Viktor was entirely unaware. He lived in a timeless void of desperate uncertainty and every minute was an hour and every hour lasted only seven seconds.

She arrived.  _ She came this time.  _

Vlad had disappeared at some point, and when they came together, Viktor bowed, but she did not curtsey as he might have expected. Still, there were cultural differences, and this would likely be only the first.

He silently indicated that they should walk, and as he went he had his hands quite purposefully clasped behind his back while she walked with her hands at her sides.

Had she expected him to escort her?  _ Oh, God, had he just fucked up?  _ No! No, ridiculous. They hadn’t even exchanged names, yet.

Viktor struggled to find the right words to say and after several moments of quiet walking, he spoke. Quietly. Slowly.  _ Carefully. _ “Thank you for meeting me tonight.”

Oh, dammit. He knew his pronunciation was not all it could be.

“Oh, no problem. I hadn’t realized you’d wanted to talk to me, but I suppose it’s natural. I’m sorry about your loss, by the way. In the World Cup, I mean. But you played brilliantly. I’m not… well, I’m not actually much of a fan of quidditch, but your talent is obvious even for me. Congratulations on Rookie of the Year, and all that.”

Viktor blinked at the flood of words. “Thank you,” he murmured, certain there were compliments in there that he needed to acknowledge. There was silence enough for him to figure out what to say next and he did, haltingly, knowing it wasn’t quite right, but it was the best he could come up with. She had  _ many more words  _ than he did. “You are knowing my name, but I am not knowing yours.”

“Oh, yes. You did say you wished to become acquainted. My apologies. I ought to have mentioned earlier.” She stopped walking, and Viktor stopped immediately as well. She held out her hand to his, but clearly to shake, not to be kissed, which quite frankly he would have much preferred. “My name’s Hermione Granger, and it’s very nice to meet you, Viktor.”

He shook her hand and bowed slightly. “It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Granger,” he said, even though she had used his first name.  _ She had used his first name. And the way she said it was utter heaven. _

It wasn’t right, of course, not strictly speaking. It was better than right. It was a caress, the kiss of fingertips over skin.

She smiled and began walking again. “You can call me Hermione. It’s fine.”

He attempted to pronounce her given name, and failed. She corrected him. He made a second attempt, and failed. She corrected him. He made a third entirely embarrassing attempt. She accepted it as good enough.

It wasn’t of course.

But she was so charming, and she smiled so beautifully that his tongue could not argue with her and he could only silently smile a bit and solemnly promise to his own heart to do everything he possibly could to convince her to marry him when the time was right.

Their walk was almost entirely silent. He apologised for his poor English. He remarked that it was his fifth and worst language, hoping perhaps to impress her if only slightly. He did, and they spoke French for the next many minutes, though not much as he was only slightly better with that language and hadn’t been practicing it diligently for the last three weeks.

_ “I do wish to improve my English, and speaking French does not help that,”  _ he said, and he knew he said it with fair pronunciation and excellent grammar. It was his vocabulary in French that was lacking most. The grammar he had entirely memorized.

Hermione nodded and switched languages. “You know, it’s a strange sort of bias. When I hear language spoken poorly, I make automatic assumptions about intelligence, but your French is beautiful and you’re fluent in German and then there’s the Russian and all that outside of your native tongue. I wish I could hear you speak Bulgarian. I’m sure you would be thoroughly impressive.”

“Oh, my dearest, my loveliest, my most cherished rose of consideration, you are entirely correct,” Viktor responded passionately and in Bulgarian. “I would make love to you with words and you would know that I am the man for you. We would have a meeting of minds, of hearts, of bodies that would make the angels weep for joy. I would win your hand and spend the rest of my days making you happy.”

She grinned at him. “Well, that  _ was _ a torrent of words. And impressive, even if I don’t understand what you said. Can I ask for a translation?”

Viktor blushed and shrugged. “Is a… dream.”

“A dream,” she said quietly, seeming to think about it with a smile on her face. There was silence for many, many steps. She broke it with a question. “If it’s not too personal to ask, why did you decide to finish school? I mean, why not just play quidditch and not worry about your last year?”

Viktor thought about the various masteries he was interested in pursuing eventually and almost trembled at the thought of having to explain any of that. He settled for something simpler.

“Life is more than quidditch,” he said slowly and carefully.

She laughed and it was a sharp, rueful thing. “Yes, yes it is.”

The conversation died then, and nothing more was said between them for the rest of the walk, and it was not until they were nearly to the front door of the castle that he spoke. 

“Thank you for fixing my nose, Hermione.” 

He could still see by the light of the moon that had long ago risen that she was smiling at him. “You’re very welcome, Viktor. Well, this was very nice. I hope you have a good year here at Hogwarts. I’m sure I’ll see you around, though I’m sure you’ll be incredibly busy. Anyway. Goodnight,” she said, backing away from where they had paused.

His heart sank and he bowed to her.

“Goodnight, Hermione,” he simply said, knowing a polite dismissal when he heard one.

_ Oh, God. She didn’t like him. _

Viktor’s heart broke into splinters that he carried gently back to his ship and used as ink to write his parents and tell of his misery.


	2. The view from the friend-zone.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s like the view from the nosebleed section. You see everything, including things you wish you couldn’t, and meanwhile you are so far from the action you may as well not exist to the main players of the drama. You are, in fact, less than a footnote in their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thrilled all y'all like the story. Here's the next installation. :)

It wasn’t that she didn’t know he existed. It was more that she largely seemed not to care, and when it was brought to her notice she either seemed vaguely surprised or vaguely annoyed.

No, that wasn’t fair.

Sometimes when she noticed him she was profoundly annoyed by his presence.

_ Fuck. _

And meanwhile, she was surrounded by boys who clamored for her attention,  _ and who all got it. _

Perhaps he was going about this all wrong.

All the meaningful looks in the world weren’t helping. Neither were the occasional smiles. It didn’t help that he’d somehow picked up a hunting pack of fans who were less than discreet, and who also tended to annoy her.

The one bright spot in all of this was Hermione’s annoyance of his hunting pack. They annoyed him as well, though he hid it perhaps better than she. But her annoyance, even though it often times trickled over onto annoyance at him, it brought him hope. Perhaps… perhaps she did not want pretty girls following his steps for more than one reason?

Viktor allowed himself to hope.

* * *

She was clearly dating Harry Potter.

_ Fuck, fuck, fuck.  _

He may as well just rip his own heart out now and have done with.

* * *

She was not dating Harry Potter.

But neither was she throwing herself at her just-a-friend-Viktor before  _ he  _ had to go off and steal an egg from a nesting dragon.

That she was helping him was obvious and reasonable. The poor child, regardless of whether he had secret and unknown abilities against dark wizards, was clearly and entirely outmatched in the Tournament and equally as clearly someone had managed to enter his name in order to kill him.

In that way, Mr. Potter had Viktor’s sympathies, all that could be spared.

In the way that Mr. Potter also had Hermione’s time and attention whenever he wished it, and had her flinging herself bodily at him in times of great stress and receiving all the love, affection, and support that she could give, Viktor would cheerfully kill him himself, if only his morality would excuse it. Which it wouldn’t. So Mr. Potter was safe from this quarter, at least.

* * *

Sometimes. Occasionally. Rarely, Viktor entered the library to find her alone and immediately gravitated to her. This was not one of those times, but this morning at breakfast it had been announced: There would be a Yule Ball. He had been warned by Karkaroff the night before. He had been warned that he should find an  _ appropriate  _ young witch to escort and it was clear and obvious what his headmaster meant by appropriate.

Not Hermione Granger, who was by no means a pure blood witch.

It was a good thing Viktor Krum frankly did not give a shit what his headmaster wanted in this regard. In such matters he answered only to his parents, and his parents had already given their blessing to his love. He would go with someone else only if she turned him down, and then only possibly. Possibly he would come down with a violent cold the day before and be unfortunately unable to attend, what a shame.

It was imperative, however, that he be able to ask her as soon as possible, before any one of the other boys who circled her like vultures had gathered their courage. He had researched the exact wording and written the note out the evening before the general announcement, and it was only a matter of finding the perfect and rather immediate opportunity to give it to her and then to wait for her response.

> _ I hope you will forgive the manner of my asking you this, but would you do me the great honor of attending the Yule Ball with me? There is no one else with whom I would wish to attend. _

If he couldn’t pass the note to her by the end of the day of general announcement, he would enlist Vlad. Any of Vlad’s plans were sure to work, and also sure to cause a scene.

* * *

A letter dropped into his lap as he sat in the library. He twisted around only to see her retreating back. It was a nice view, but frankly not the one he wanted most.

> _ I would be honored, yes. I miss studying with you; you’re so quiet and respectful, I hardly know you’re there and I can get real work done, not like with my other friends. Of course I don’t miss your groupies. They’re a menace. How’s your English coming along? And how are you enjoying Hogwarts so far? I know details about Durmstrang are a secret so I won’t ask, but I do wonder how the two schools compare. Anyway, I know you must be quite busy, so don’t feel as if you need to actually answer my questions, it’s fine. And congratulations on the first task. I’d hate to face a dragon under any circumstances but you showed the most courage, I think. Well done, Viktor. _

His heart stopped in the best way with the first line and a half, and in the worst way as the second line finished. She liked his presence because it was like he wasn’t there?

And yes, the hunting dogs were a menace.

And no, English was not going anywhere as he had no conversational partner.

Hogwarts was both dream and nightmare in turns, depending entirely on her own disposition toward him that day.

Durmstrang was a school. Nothing interesting there. And could there be any useful comparison at all? This was the school at which his love studied. Did aught else matter?

Another polite dismissal, God, it was killing him.

And congratulations? With no subtle undercut? Had she censored herself at the end? Or did she really mean it?

But… she would go with him. She had said, and now he wouldn’t have to fake illness on the solstice. The best thing would be to just… focus on his studies and figure out what to do with the message of the merfolk. An hour to reclaim a thing of value stolen, lest it be lost forever. Clearly underwater. So the issues at hand were breathing, navigation, mobility, and carting back whatever was lost, in addition to the water hazards which, as he already knew, included a kraken.

It was a good thing he liked swimming in cold water.

* * *

It wasn’t enough, of course, to realize moments before he had to enter the water that it was very obviously  _ Hermione  _ who had been taken hostage, whom he had to rescue.

It wasn’t enough, of course, to see here there, in stasis  _ but looking dead.  _

It wasn’t enough to have forgotten to take a deep breath and end the transfiguration  _ before  _ he came to the surface, and thus terrify the woman he loved.

In the best moment possible as they were huddled together on the bank of the lake under towels, he had her full attention, he had just rescued her from uncertain peril (surely the merfolk were not so uncivilized as to not return children?) he asked her to visit him in the summer because surely he would have no better time to prove to her that it was not just as friends that he wished to take her to the Ball?

Perhaps for someone else, someone with more luck, or more skill, or more romance in his soul. But not for Viktor Krum. No. No, it could not work that way for him. Of course it could not.

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than she spotted Harry Fucking Potter and dashed over to him like Viktor did not exist.

And perhaps, for her, he didn’t.


	3. The hope that blooms late blooms best.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friends did not look at each other like they were looking at each other.

With trepidation, Viktor waited for his  _ friend  _ to arrive at their designated meeting spot. They had walked around the lake many times. Well, a few times. Alright, three times. They had studied together countless times. Well, to be precise, nine times. He had rescued her from the lake in the second task and it was a hell of a statement, as all three schools now knew she was the person he prized most, and above all others. His friends and classmates all referred to her as his girlfriend, but clearly this was not the case as the witch in question was unaware of the fact.

No.

They were acquaintances, certainly.

They were friends, possibly.

And given that she was willing to say more in the notes she passed, Viktor decided this was the best venue and just started answering questions regardless of her polite dismissals, and posing ones of his own. It gave him more opportunity, at least, to be friends with her and to build that foundation, and it certainly put him in a better light than having to actually form words spontaneously  _ and then have to say them out loud.  _

If by the end of the year they were still friends and she hadn’t declared that she never wanted to hear from him again, he was definitely getting an English language tutor the moment he graduated. Better to embarrass himself in front of a tutor, than Hermione.

And so they had, by the time the Winter Solstice came around, discussed a great many things, often in writing, and while Viktor remained largely tongue-tied and miserable when needing to speak to her, there were slightly more opportunities than at the beginning of the year.

And sometimes, she would smile at him, when he first sat down next to her in the library. Or lately when they passed in the hallway, and Viktor always,  _ always  _ smiled back.

Even that one time when it meant he didn’t properly block the hex coming his way from his dueling partner. Or that other time it meant that he had, in fact, tripped over his own feet. But he had gotten a smile from Hermione, so it was all quite alright in his mind.

And all of those smiles, as beautiful as they were, were  _ nothing  _ as compared to the smile she graced him with as she walked down the last stairway to him, looking resplendent and lovely, a vision in a blue gown. She was altogether scrumptious and Viktor wanted to feast and for the first time,  _ for the very first time,  _ it looked like she might possibly consent to the idea. Or at least to the idea of a kiss at the end of the night.

_ Tonight she was radiant and smiling just for him.  _

Hope blossomed and not even her disappearance at the end of the night could fully dim it. Clearly something had happened between her and one of her many boys-she-wasn’t-dating who circled around her like flies and Viktor could read quite clearly the jealous and angry glares he was getting from one in particular, and one she had been talking to before he’d lost track of her. Now, if he hadn’t lost track of her, he might have been more magnanimous about it, and even so it wasn’t like he could hex the little shit. But if he still had her in his arms he might not have just won the staring contest from across the room while filling in Vlad on what he suspected had occurred, all while scowling and staring with one single eyebrow raised at her unkind friend who had driven her from his arms.

He would find out this idiot’s name, if only to pray for him to find his own girlfriend and leave Hermione alone.

* * *

The spring was beautiful, and so was Hermione. She spoke with him. She wrote to him. She walked around the lake with him. She made it very clear that she would never, not ever, ride a broom with him but it was because she was terrified of flying, and so Viktor shelved an entire category of his fantasy life until such time as she might relent in her decision.

He learned about dentists, and London, her half-kneazle, and which subjects she liked best. He told her of roses and dogs and the Black Sea and the mountains of Vratsa.

She warned him about his headmaster, but he already had known about his past, everyone did. She warned him that something was up, but he hadn’t really understood the depth of what she might know and why she might know it. She was, as it turned out, remarkably closed mouth about certain subjects. 

But they grew closer, certainly. And before the third task he had an opportunity to introduce her to his parents, and of course they loved her. After the third task, win or lose, after she congratulated Harry who of course would come out on top, after all that was finished, he would ask her again to come and visit him, urge her to do so in the name of friendship.

That was his plan. It was a good plan, a well-thought-out plan and they were much closer this time. It would work, this time. He was certain of it. And Viktor entered the maze, filled with that certainty. The Tournament? It no longer mattered to him.

Only Hermione mattered to him.

* * *

A shattered vessel holds no water.

His parents had wanted to take him home immediately, but then he would never get a chance to say goodbye to Hermione, to ask her at least to write to him, to give her his address. He hadn’t done it earlier. Foolishly, he’d thought he had time. If he’d just done it earlier, he could be home now, home with his parents, home in Bulgaria where life made sense, where peace reigned and love ached but did not cause this sort of suffering. He could recover, in Bulgaria. He could get a tutor or three and finish his exams from there, sitting out near the roses and letting the peace of Concordia wash over all the cracks in his soul.

But now he was stuck here, another three days here. Another week at Durmstrang. Classes. Exams. People. Things.

He didn’t get out of bed. He didn’t eat. He didn’t bathe. He didn’t shave, not until the very last day, because he had to find Hermione before they left. He had to find her and ask her to write to him, give her his address and beg her with his eyes, beg her tender heart to wait for him to go home and lick his wounds, to somehow heal that which could never be healed.

And he found her, amongst her guard dogs, but he approached all the same, because how could he not? And really, he trained bigger dogs at home. They would not frighten him off this last time, as well.

And she did agree to write to him, and her eyes, those beautiful expressive eyes said so much more than he could ever have hoped she would say. And she let him hold her hand and kiss it, and the look in her eye changed, deepend, said exactly what Viktor dreamed it would say.

If he had the energy, if it had been  _ before  _ the Maze he might have acted differently, might have chanced to say more, but he couldn’t. Not now.

A shattered vessel holds no water.

And this was enough for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it. Another successfully short story. And every time I successfully finish a story I think to myself - see? see! I CAN finish stories! I CAN!
> 
> Anyway, I hope you liked it and I hope you'll leave a comment and some kudos, mostly because I love talking with all y'all, and I hope you'll be intrigued enough to go stalk my website, sareliz.com.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you've enjoyed this walk down Memory Lane with Viktor and his angst. If it's all too much for you, I recommend you go reread the first several chapters of Debts of Honor and wallow in his relief that Hermione is fantasizing over his promo shots in the newspaper.
> 
> This story is finished, upon posting. The three chapters will be posted on sequential days. Enjoy your quarantine reading!


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